


The Voice That Urged

by bronweathanharthad



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronweathanharthad/pseuds/bronweathanharthad
Summary: On the day of their wedding, a snake bite takes George Mills' life, and Peter resolves himself to take back his beloved. A retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.
Relationships: Peter Dawson/George Mills
Kudos: 4





	The Voice That Urged

**Author's Note:**

> -title is from "Talk" by Hozier
> 
> -I took a couple of artistic liberties with the myth, and Peter's brother is alive in this universe because I said so.

A cool early spring air surrounded Peter Dawson as he rehearsed the song he composed for his wedding. In time his groom would return from gathering flowers, and then the festivities could finally begin.

As the noon sun hovered in the sky, distant shouting caught his ear. The source was too far away to make out any words, but the sound was enough to make him stop his activities and search for any messengers. His eyes soon found a young man running frantically and calling out his name.

He ran out to meet the man. “What is it?” he called. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s your groom, sir. He’s … he is dead.”

His blood froze. He must have misheard. How could his George be dead? He was perfectly healthy this morning and in good spirits. “What happened?” he said, his voice sounding thin and frail to his ears.

“We were out gathering flowers. Your groom wandered into tall grass, and as I readied to join him, he fell, stricken by a serpent. He was dead by the time I reached him.”

His mind and body went numb. How could this be? How could this happen to his most dearly beloved, today of all days? What unjust gods would allow this to happen?

He could not give voice to his grief, so he turned to his lyre. His fingers wove a tune that caused clouds to gather in the sky and the trees themselves to sigh in sorrow. But his eyes remained dry even as his sorrow weighed heavy on him, and so great was his grief that he became blind to the grief of his companions.

As his lament came to an end, will began to stir in his heart. This day should not be cause for sorrow when it should have been his and George’s greatest joy. If the gods took his groom, he would take him right back. “I have to find him,” he said.

“What do you mean?” said his brother.

“I must have him back,” he said simply, his eyes steely with resolution.

“This isn’t a good idea, Peter. Few who venture into the underworld return. To go there is certain death for you.” Other guests murmured in agreement.

He turned to his brother with a baffled expression. “Should I forsake George then? Should I leave him to languish alone until my own time comes? If I don’t return, at least we shall be together.”

“Peter, you are my brother, and I love you. Please don’t throw away your life so rashly.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t leave him like this, I can’t. Better to die for love than live without.”

“Is love of family not enough?” said his brother, but by then Peter was on his way.

Peter did not know where precisely the river Styx flowed, so he followed the first body of water he found according to the direction of the wind, along the way eating whatever berries he could find and occasionally indulging in hastily packed rations. Whether through divine intervention or sheer luck, he somehow pursued the water until it joined with other bodies of water that trailed down a long hill into a gaping cave.

Soon Charon’s ferry came into sight. The boat had no occupants that Peter could see.

The ferryman gazed at Peter with weary, wizened eyes. “What brings you here, mortal? Are you another hero seeking glory?”

“I seek an audience with your master. My groom lost his life on our wedding day.”

“Do you see the folly in your desire? My master has yet to release a dead soul, and should he deny your request he would most certainly see that you never leave.”

“That matters not to me,” he said and took out more than enough coin for the fare.

“If this is what you desire,” said Charon, and he let Peter onto his boat.

Peter tuned his lyre along the way. He was too tired to improvise a tune, and he wanted to save his faculties for Hades, but Charon still took notice of his activity. “So you are a follower of Apollo,” he said. “Your groom spoke of your skill.”

Peter didn’t answer. If his reputation preceded him, he could not decide if that would help or hinder him.

Charon ferried him until they reached the mouth of the cave. “I cannot accompany you from here,” he said. “You will need to find my master of your own accord. I must warn you, the air here is much colder than you mortals are accustomed to. You must keep moving at whatever cost, or else the chill may consume you as it has consumed many a foolish man seeking an audience with Hades.”

Peter nodded and thanked the ferryman.

Cerberus clearly had no interest in letting a mortal into the underworld unaccompanied, but Peter had braced himself for this possibility. Slowly, calmly, he held his lyre and played a lullaby. It was similar to a lullaby he played on occasion to placate wild animals. His ability to make animals listen to his music was one of the first things that drew George to him, and now here he was doing it again. In time, Cerberus closed all of six of his eyes and curled into a deep repose. Content in his rest, Peter continued.

The surroundings were as Charon warned. With every breath came the sensation of daggers stabbing his throat. The exposed flesh of his hands burned from the cold. It felt as if the air itself tried to steal his living warmth. But he would not surrender to the power of Hades so long as he still drew breath.

He pressed on, paying no heed to the spirits around him and trying to ignore the wails of punished souls. Where George’s spirit was he had no way of knowing, and it would be fruitless to search. He had to keep going until he found the king of the underworld, and however long it took, he would not stop until he found him. The longer he wandered, the more he questioned the wisdom of his action. But second thoughts and despair would not help him during this journey.

Time seemed to stand still here, so he had no way of knowing how long it took, but finally he found Hades upon his throne. His skin was pallid, his pristine silver garb a stark contrast to the muddy brown surroundings, his ice blue eyes gazing unblinkingly at the intruder.

“What brings you here?” said the god of the dead, his voice low and his words spoken slowly and deliberately.

For a moment Peter haltered. He longed to avert his gaze from Hades’ burning stare. But he had come too far to give up now. “You have the soul of my groom. I am here to reclaim him.”

“You do not have the authority to rescind my duties. Your groom has died. In the realm of the dead he must stay.”

“He perished on the day we were supposed to wed. Would you deny us our marriage?”

“Death is impartial. It has no regard for fairness or justice. Why should I make an exception for you?”

“In the name of Phoebus Apollo, I beseech you to grant my request. You may do whatever you wish upon my death. But please bring me my groom.” His voice lacked the bravado that he hoped it would have, and Hades took note of that.

“Did not your patron also lose his lover? I could not grant him the mortality he desired, and, as you should recall, he chose instead to honor his lover’s memory. You should do the same.” There was an air of finality in his voice, but Peter had come too far to simply give up.

“Please, my lord,” he said, removing his lyre from its case as his eyes shimmered from desperation. “I composed a song for our wedding, and I can’t let that go to waste. Will you at least hear it?”

It was clear that this young man had no intention of taking no for an answer. He may as well humor him and see if his musical talent lived up to the rumors. “Go ahead.”

The cold stiffened his fingers and made playing painful, but still he played. His grief and fear and utter desperation strained his voice, but still he sang. No performance carried half as much weight as this, but he would not fail under pressure, not when all that he held most dear hung in the balance. He had practiced so many times that he trusted his fingers to play without his eyes’ supervision, and he forced himself to maintain steady eye contact with Hades as he performed. He didn’t care if he cried, forgot a line, or sang a faulty note as long as the god saw how seriously he took this performance.

Hades’ face remained stern throughout Peter’s performance, offering little more than an eyebrow raise. Several agonizing moments passed after the final chord as Hades pondered. Peter waited with baited breath, and just when it seemed that Hades would never offer an answer, he spoke. “You are a gifted musician and a worthy follower of Phoebus Apollo. You have done what no mortal before you has done; you have moved my heart.

“Go back to whence you came. Your groom shall follow behind, and you will see him returned to you the moment that you step into the daylight. I make only one condition. As long as you remain in my realm, you are not to turn around. Should you turn to face your groom before you see daylight, he will be lost to you forever. If you return to my realm, I shall regard you as one of the dead.”

_How can I trust you to return him to me?_ But Peter knew that to question the word of the god of death would be unwise. So instead he said, “I understand.”

Hades nodded curtly. “Away with you.”

Silence again remained Peter’s sole companion as he trekked back through the squalor of the realm of the dead. Doubts began to creep into his mind, doubts that whispered to him throughout his journey here, and this time he was powerless to smother them.

He acted on grief and injustice, or so he told himself. But was it a desire to right a wrong or a selfish impulse? Why would he so flippantly undertake a task that could have easily led to his death without a second thought for the grief it would cause his family? And should he match Hades’ condition, should Hades keep his word and return George safely to the world of the living, would his actions save his groom or condemn him to suffer death a second time?

And why was he walking in silence? If George was indeed following him, why could he not hear his footsteps?

He froze, straining his ears for any sign of another living being other than himself. But he heard nothing aside from his own quiet breaths.

He cursed his desire to turn around. What good would it do? If he turned around now and George was there, Hades would claim him forever. If he turned around and saw nothing, Hades would never grant him another chance to get George back. Either way, he would leave the underworld as lonely as he arrived.

He couldn’t lose the love of his life like this. He would not be responsible for his second death. There was no choice but to press forward and face whatever befell him beyond the boundaries of this place, no matter how much he yearned to once again behold his beloved.

He pressed forward until he finally returned to the realm of the living, and he continued until he felt he was a safe distance from Cerberus. According to Hade’s decree it should have been safe to turn around, yet still he hesitated. His doubt had not left him, and he feared the possibility that he had come all this way for nothing.

But then he felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice calling him by name.

He finally turned around, and there stood his George. He looked as healthy and vivacious as he did the last time they saw each other, and on his head rested a crown of hyacinths.

In his awe, Peter could not speak. Slowly, gently, he reached out to touch George’s cheek, wanting to feel his corporeal form out of fear that he had imagined the sensation of his touch. When his hand found warm flesh, George broke into a smile, and sudden tears flowed from Peter’s eyes as he smiled in turn.

George placed his hand on the back of Peter’s head and pressed his forehead to his. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I’m back, aren’t I?”

Peter broke into laughter. “It’s you,” he said. “It’s really you.”

“Of course it’s me.” And George kissed him hungrily and gratefully, and Peter kissed him back with equal fervor.


End file.
